“I wanted to get a job in the city. Even though I couldn’t get him to talk about his affairs, I knew he couldn’t have very much money, living in a ramshackle place like this. But though I wanted to get out and earn some money, I realized I must stay with him for the time being—and I’m glad I did. Father passed away in his sleep the night of July fourth. The doctor said it was his heart—like Mother.
“Well, I guess that’s about all of it. When the will was read I found that he’d left me everything. It amounted to two thousand dollars in cash, and this house and the sixteen acres that go with it. I stuck on here for the rest of the summer, trying to get the place in better shape; gave the house a couple of coats of paint, re-shingled parts of the roof, and have done as much as I could. I’m trying to sell the place, you know, and the agent told me I could never do it unless it was put in better condition. It looks pretty bad still, but I’ve worked like a dog.
“And I forgot to say, that Mr. Lewis bought Hilltop from father. He drops in here every once in a while for a chat. I know he’s got a reputation for being a skinflint, but I sort of like the old man, anyway.”
Dorothy, who had been absent-mindedly rolling bread pills on the table cloth, threw him a sharp glance.
“What happened tonight, before we came?” she asked.
“Why, I was just about to get my supper, when the bell rang. I opened the door and those two guys jumped me.”
“Not very subtle, were they? What do you suppose they were after?” Bill looked inquiringly at George.
“Well, this is the funny part of it all. They said they’d come for the letter Father had left for me to read after his death—”
“And you didn’t give it to them?”
“I’d never even heard of such a letter. I told them so.”